Auto-Hunting (2)

Variant monsters generally fell into two distinct categories.

Those crawling straight out of a Wave.

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And those lurking in the untamed wilderness.

If you asked which one posed the greater threat, the answer was undeniably the second.

"If they expand their colonies unchecked, they end up triggering a Wave themselves, don't they?"

Unlike the sudden incursions spewing from Rifts, the second variety grew in numbers organically until they formed an army capable of overwhelming nearby settlements. What made them far more insidious was the fact that they blended seamlessly into the native ecosystem. It would have been one thing if they nested in barren subterranean caverns or active volcanic crags, but when they claimed vital woodlands like the user above described, it became an outright catastrophe. For the common folk who relied on those forests for hunting and gathering, it dealt a devastating blow to their very survival.

Leave them to fester, and they inevitably explode.

"Which makes right now the perfect opportunity."

Having scattered during the fallout of the nuclear blast, the monsters were only just beginning to trickle back into their territories. They were disoriented, isolated, and at their absolute weakest.

"Hmm..."

The core dilemma was obvious: despite placing grand grand prizes on the line, countless users threw in the towel before they even bothered trying. If that was the case, the baseline rewards across the entire bounty board needed an overhaul.

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"The real trick is driving mass participation while burning as few points as possible..."

I couldn't just hand out modern firearms to every random adventurer on the continent. Instead, a far more diabolical alternative crossed my mind.

"Bingo."

Spicy canned tuna.

What was spicy canned tuna to these survivors?

It was an outrageously pungent, fiercely savory burst of modern seasoning. A strictly superior, transcendent upgrade to plain canned tuna.

The problem was, it simply wasn't on sale. No matter how much the forum users clamored, the Head Moderator flatly refused to put it in stock.

And right into that starving fervor dropped a brand-new bounty notice. Slaying the specified beast would yield an astonishing bounty of five full cans of spicy tuna.

"I have to kill it. No matter what."

With an ironclad scowl etched across his weathered face, the monster hunter Jade made his way toward Adrian. An independent prowler unaffiliated with any guild or lord, monster hunting was his sole livelihood. The reason he took up such a gruesome trade was simple.

"I don't give a damn about anything anymore."

He was sick and tired of the world. When the Great War erupted, it stripped away everything he had ever held dear. He had no home, no kin, and no companions left to his name. Stripped bare of purpose, only one driving desire kept his boots moving along the dirt: tasting the novel, mind-bending foods sold through the Gallery Market.

"That spicy tuna... I will taste it."

He swore he would sear that legendary flavor into the recesses of his soul. Even if his heart stopped beating tomorrow, securing those crimson cans today would make his miserable life worth living.

Rustle.

A nearby clump of brush shifted abruptly.

"Who's there?!" Jade barked, hauling his bowstring back to his ear in a split second.

Startled by the snarl, a figure flinched and stepped out with both gauntleted palms raised high in surrender. It was an armored knight.

"Calm yourself! I am a hunter, just like you."

"Hmph."

A fellow scavenger walking the same bloodstained path. Sensing no murderous aura, Jade lowered his draw slightly, prompting the knight to quickly press his case.

"If you don't mind, would you care to join forces? Truth be told, I have journeyed here for the spicy tuna as well."

"Hmm... Fine by me."

Two blades were always better than one. Even if ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the frog's whip-like tongue snared one of them, the other could sever the tendon and pull them out alive. The moment their hands met in a firm, pragmatic handshake, however—

Rustle.

The thicket behind them stirred once more.

"Who's lurking over there now?!"

Both Jade and the knight wheeled around, weapons leveled in unison. From the emerald foliage, a pair of slender ears twitched before a head of radiant blonde hair peeked sheepishly into view.

"...A knife-ear?"

"A long-eared pest?"

What in the heavens was an elf from El-Ladh, a city far away to the northwest, doing out here in the outskirts of Adrian?

"Excuse me! How dreadfully rude!"

"What brings an elf all the way out here?"

"...I was curious about the flavor of the spicy canned tuna."

Jade recalled rumors he had heard in passing: that self-styled adventurous youth among the elves had begun slipping past the ancient borders of El-Ladh to roam the wider world. Fiddling awkwardly with the tip of her ear, the elf offered a cautious glance.

"Since fate has brought us together, would you perhaps let me join your party?"

"Hmm."

"A splendid proposal, wouldn't you say?" the knight chimed in.

Well, three was certainly safer than two. Splitting five cans three ways would sting, but returning empty-handed or ending up as monster fodder was an infinitely worse prospect.

"Very well. Let's move."

And so, an impromptu trio was formed.

BOOM!

Before they could take ten paces, a thunderous shockwave rattled the very soil beneath their boots. A savage clash against the variant beast was already raging nearby.

"We're going to lose it at this rate!"

"Double time, quickly!"

A high-ranking spellcaster might have already cornered the quarry. Brushing wildly past tangled briars, the three charged into the woodland clearing.

KABOOM!

Slash, THUD!

The closer they drew, the more unnervingly crowded the battlefield sounded.

'How could there be this many people ahead of us?' Jade thought, bewildered. This swamp was notorious as an untamed wasteland where commoners dared not tread.

"What in the...!"

Breaking through the final treeline, the three froze dead in their tracks. Before them reared the monstrous, bloated form of the one-eyed amphibian—and swarming it was a spectacle beyond belief.

A band of roughneck brawlers,

A formation of heavily armored knights,

An elven sniper perched high upon the boughs,

"Wait, why the hell are there so many?!"

A vanguard hunter lashing out with spiked iron gauntlets,

And countless other sellswords besides. Dozens of fighters locked eyes with Jade's newly arrived party all at once.

—GURRRRGL-KWAHHH!

Trapped at the absolute epicenter of the relentless onslaught, the One-Eyed Frog let out a shrill, weeping shriek that echoed across the marshlands. If its frantic, tear-filled eye could speak, it would have screamed a single plea:

Stop fucking coming!

Spicy canned tuna didn't actually cost much.

"Practically dirt cheap, isn't it?"

Purely in terms of base pricing, there was virtually no difference between it and standard canned tuna. If anything, the System Shop frequently discounted canned goods far below their retail value, meaning purchasing them in bulk placed zero strain on my point reserve. Yet despite that, I had deliberately withheld spicy tuna from the general inventory. Why?

"Effective as hell."

The secret was artificial scarcity.

In the admin store, it cost a meager 2 points. But because I gritted my teeth and refused to list it, the secondary market price had soared into the stratosphere. Sellers could practically name whatever absurd fortune they wanted.

I had deliberately turned a blind eye to the shameless scalping running rampant across the boards. The more out of hand it grew, the more potent a tool it became for me. When it came to basic survival rations, standard canned tuna was readily available, making spicy tuna a pure, unadulterated luxury commodity. And for non-essential luxuries, I had zero obligation to keep prices affordable. In fact, I did the exact opposite—I stoked the fire.

Once the market perceived its value as untouchable, I locked spicy tuna strictly behind the bounty hunt system.

Dropping an official administrative notice while manufacturing a righteous moral pretext for banning scalpers tied everything together in a neat bow. Now, all that remained was watching the bounty board thrive.

Naturally, when a chaotic mob ganged up on a single target, disputes over reward distribution were bound to happen. But that, too, was easily sorted with the system's scanning algorithm.

"Accurate down to the last scratch."

I remitted the promised reward straight to Jade's party.

"Watching those points vanish always stings a little, though..."

Indeed, the bounty came right out of my own pocket. While crowdsourcing monster eradication offered immense advantages for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠continent-wide defense, its single greatest drawback was point consumption. Unlike regular store transactions where goods converted back into Mana Dumplings, these bounties were pure expenditures.

"Well, it's an investment for the gallery's future."

Though it gnawed at my frugal soul, it was an essential operational cost. Right now it was only 10 points, but as high-threat variants appeared on the board, the payouts would scale accordingly. Still, I had braced myself for this degree of bleeding from the start.

Just as I was calculating the projected point burn for the upcoming month, another prompt flashed across my interface.

"What?"

An entirely unexpected gallery alert popped up before my eyes.